Felix Ever After(48)

“Felix!” he yells. There’s background noise and music. I hear Marisol and Leah laughing. “Felix, come through!”

God, he’s already drunk. “I don’t know. I’m a little tired.”

He groans. “Oh, come on. Don’t be such a boring fuck. You’re seventeen. How many more times do you get to be seventeen, Felix? Huh? How many fucking times?”

I sigh. I’m not in the mood for a party—not at all—but there’s no way I can just go home with nothing but my thoughts and questions and grandequeen69’s trolling messages and Declan with his texts.

“Where should I meet you?”





Fourteen


THE ADDRESS EZRA TEXTS ME TAKES ME TO GREENPOINT, past all the closed groceries and bakeries, into the streets with flickering streetlights and the kind of dark alleys I’ve always been warned not to go down alone. Brick factories that are 100 percent haunted start to pop up. The blue dot on my GPS keeps jumping back and forth, and I can’t find the street where the party is supposed to be. I kind of want to kill Ezra right now. This is exactly the sort of shady part of town that’s just a little more dangerous for someone like me.

I turn the corner, and there’s a line wrapped around the sidewalk. People in short skirts, netting, and tanks filter into one of the warehouses. I run across the street, checking both ways even though there aren’t any cars around. I join the end of the line, the bouncer checks my fake ID, and I slide in through the heavy metal doors.

A staircase leads up into darkness, music thumping. I hold on to the railing to steady myself as I climb the steep stairs.

There’s another pair of doors on the landing—and when I open them, the music blasts so loudly that it almost knocks me off my feet. There’re no lights except for red streaks, illuminating faces and hands thrown into the air. Music with a heavy beat vibrates through the floor, up my shins, and the crowd—I didn’t even know so many people could be stuffed into a single room—moves as one. I might be the only person standing still. People are dancing against each other, against the walls, against the bar, against the speakers, as if everyone’s been cursed to dance until they die.

I don’t see Ezra anywhere. I make it through the crowd, across the dance floor, to another set of doors. I burst through them, taking one long breath. I’m on a rooftop. There’s enough space for dozens of people to stand around, talking and smoking. The wall is only waist-high. It’d be too easy to trip and fall over the side. A cool breeze wafts in over the skyline of warehouses and factories, glowing yellow lights against the black night.

I text Ez to let him know that I’m here. I’m always a little nervous around huge crowds of people I don’t know. I walk through the groups slowly, checking to see if I recognize anyone, glancing at my phone over and over again to see if Ezra has responded. Arms grab me from behind, yanking me into a tight hug, and Ezra laughs in my ear.

“You’re so late,” he whines.

“Sorry,” I say. “Got distracted.”

Austin appears at Ezra’s side. I feel a twinge of disappointment. Even if I’m tired, I was kind of looking forward to hanging out with just Ezra. I don’t really feel like dealing with his maybe-and-looking-more-likely-boyfriend.

“Hey!” Austin says, head bopping to the beat.

I nod and force a smile. We all stand there for a solid five seconds, looking at one another. It’s awkward as fuck. When it was me, Ezra, and Declan—I don’t know, the three of us just worked. We always had something to talk about, to laugh about. I never felt jealous or like I wasn’t being included. Before Declan broke up with Ez, we were all friends with each other. And now, Ezra and Austin are both looking at me like they expect the same thing to happen again—for me to just befriend Austin, welcome him into the group.

A new song starts to play, I don’t know by who, I’ve never heard it before, and Marisol screams and runs up, grabbing Ezra’s hands and dragging him back inside, Ezra grinning over his shoulder at us as he leaves me and Austin behind. I cringe. Austin lets out an awkward laugh.

“Marisol’s cool, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” I lie.

“You know, before I started hanging out with Ezra, I’d seen you and him and Marisol around St. Cat’s a bunch, and I always thought you guys are really cool and had smart stuff to say in class, and you’re all really talented, but the school is so cliquey, so I never felt like I could say hello or anything.”

I feel a flinch of confusion, and maybe some guilt. “You were scared to say hello?”

“Well, yeah,” he says. “I guess I was just a little intimidated. I mean, your paintings are like—whew, seriously, really freaking good, and I knew that I could never be that good, and you’re kind of a badass, you know? Like, you’re just yourself so unapologetically. And, I mean, I’ve had a crush on Ezra for, like, a whole year now. He’s really funny and . . . well, really attractive, like he could be a model or something. I’ve liked him for a while, but I didn’t know how to just walk up to him and start talking. And for a long time, I thought that he was going out with you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Me?”

“I mean, that’s not such a stretch, right? You hang out all the time.”

“Yeah. Because we’re best friends.”